


too fast for himself

by smolalienbee



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Author Projecting onto Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Communication, Conversations, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Relationships, Light Angst, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Self-Indulgent, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Talk about your feelings kids, Talking, even if those feelings may seem a bit odd, the lesson here is that communication is important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22068007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolalienbee/pseuds/smolalienbee
Summary: Crowley's never been the one for constants. So as things quiet down after the Armaggedon That Didn't Happen, he begins to worry that eventually, he'll push away the one constant that's always been near him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	too fast for himself

**Author's Note:**

> That "Author Projecting onto Crowley" tag is basically all you need to know about this fic lmao (I laughed way too hard when I realized that's an actual tag, seems like our dear boy is way too easy to project onto). Basically it's just a short thing that I wrote in one sitting where I project onto Crowley a lot and all that happens is that Crowley and Aziraphale talk a bit. I've always been quite amazed by other people's ability to make lifelong promises and confess undying love to others so now I'm using Crowley as my outlet to talk about it, whoops. New fandom, new character to project onto. Enjoy I suppose??? My main hope is that someone out there will be able to relate to this, to be perfectly honest

In all years of Crowley’s long, long existence, there’s always been only one constant. Everything else around him has always been shifting and changing. A lot of time, it’s been that way because he’s wanted it to change. He’s needed it to change. He can’t remain still, can’t stand in the boring sameness, always needs something new, exciting, interesting, something to keep his mind going, to make him feel something, anything at all. 

The only constant in his life, that’s Aziraphale. Who’s currently sitting across from him, sipping on wine and talking about this or that, but Crowley has tuned him out a long time ago. That doesn’t happen often. He usually listens to every single word the angel has to say, genuinely interested in all of it. This time’s different, though, he can’t focus, his mind wandering to places equally far as the ones close. 

He thinks about the future, about the time when he’ll inevitably leave the angel behind. Because that’s what happens to everything that he gets close to, everything that he touches. He dances around it, he lets himself develop attachments and then he moves on. Aziraphale can’t be that different. It’s just a matter of time, isn’t it?

It’s not a bad thing, in general. Moving on, changing one’s mind, the ever shifting feelings, the cruel humanity of it. Crowley knows that moving on would hurt. It would hurt more than Hell, more than the Fall, but he knows he’d be okay, eventually. Aziraphale? He can’t tell. He can’t tell how the angel would react if he was to ever leave.

“My dear, are you listening to me?”

When Crowley blinks his eyes back into focus, he suddenly realizes Aziraphale’s face is much closer than it previously was. He pulls back in surprise and nods hurriedly.

“Yeah, of course- why would you even ask-”

“What’s on your mind, Crowley?” Aziraphale interrupts him before he has a chance to try and wrack his mind for any bits of what the angel was saying.

Crowley opens his mouth, then closes it. He lets out a long sigh, reaching up to take off his sunglasses. He discards them rather carelessly on the table nearby, then rubs at his eyes tiredly. Aziraphale seems a little taken aback by the gesture, but he doesn’t say anything. He gives Crowley all the time in the world to think of a response.

“It’s not important, angel.” 

It is. It’s very important, but the last thing Crowley wants to do is to scare Aziraphale away. 

“But of course it is, if it’s bothering you so much,” and then Aziraphale is reaching over and placing a gentle hand on top of his and he does it so casually, so simply and Crowley can’t help but be envious of that simplicity.

There’s been a lot more of that, in the months following the Armageddon That Didn’t Happen. The casual touches, lingering gazes. Most of them initiated by Aziraphale, usually, and shouldn’t Crowley be happy about it? He’s longed for it for so many centuries, so why would it scare him so much, now that he finally has it? 

He stares down at their hands, the yellow of his eyes covering the white almost entirely. He says nothing. Aziraphale doesn’t pull away.

“You can talk to me, dear.”

“I know,” Crowley mutters, “I just…” he trails off and shakes his head. He’s never been good with words. 

“Take your time. We have an eternity in front of us, there’s no rush.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow at that, his gaze briefly flickering up to the angel. It frustrates him sometimes, the patience and kindness that Aziraphale shows him. But hasn’t he been patient as well, for six thousand years, prodding and constantly trying to slow himself down, just so that the angel could keep up with him? So why couldn’t it be the other way around, now. Why couldn’t Aziraphale wait for him, now.

Crowley swallows thickly and then speaks, “I’ve been thinking, angel, that… you know, one day we may… drift apart.” 

He’s already thinking of what to say next, of how to explain it better, but there’s already that Look on Aziraphale’s face, that hurt and surprise and for Heaven’s sake, Crowley cannot take it. He looks away.

“Dear boy, what are you on about?”

His grip on Crowley’s hand tightens and Crowley thinks he may be sick.

“I’m not saying that I want to leave,” he tries again, speaking with a bit more force to his words, “But- you know me. You’ve known me for bloody six thousands years and…” 

Why does it have to be so difficult?

“And?” Aziraphale prompts softly.

Crowley shrugs, “I don’t ever stick to one thing. You-” he lifts a hand up, waves it vaguely, then lets out a frustrated sigh, “-you find something that you like and you keep it close for- for as long as you can. I don’t do that, not usually. I jump from thing to thing, I-” 

Crowley hates that he can hear his own voice breaking. 

“You’re worried that you’ll move on from me, too, eventually,” Aziraphale says quietly. Crowley closes his eyes and nods. 

There’s silence, then, and it stretches on for a long while. Crowley isn’t sure what to make of it and so he keeps his eyes firmly shut, too nervous to look at the angel. He’s rather startled when there’s a gentle hand on his cheek. He blinks and to his surprise, he’s met with a fond look from Aziraphale. Why would the angel look at him like that, right after what he just found out?

“That’s alright, Crowley.”

“What- how’s that-” Crowley stutters, but can’t quite get to the point. Aziraphale pats his cheek gently, effectively shutting him up.

“Because I’d rather you be honest with me than if you were to promise me something that you yourself can’t even be sure of,” he told him, “I trust you. I do. And- you mean a lot to me and I know I mean just as much to you, dear. Personally, I think that after six thousand years together it’s rather unlikely that you’d change your mind, but I know it’s always a possibility, because feelings are these… these funny things that even humans can’t fully comprehend, even though they’re more equipped to do so than we are.”

“But-”

“And before you say anything, dear, I would be upset, if you were to leave. Of course I would be. But I’d like to think that I’d understand it, as long as you talked to me about it.”

Aziraphale’s eyes are directed at him and Crowley feels like the angel isn’t even looking at his human body anymore. It’s like he’s looking into his very soul and perhaps that is what is happening. He can’t tell for sure and he’s not about to ask.

“I don’t see how you can be so… calm about this,” Crowley mumbles out. He pulls his hand out of Aziraphale and reaches up to gingerly cover the one that’s on his cheek.

“Because the important thing is that we’re here, together, right now,” Aziraphale responds, “I think it’s something that you’ve taught me, dear. The importance of living in the moment, of enjoying what we have right now instead of thinking too far into the future.”

Crowley laughs breathlessly, looking up at the angel. Their eyes meet and this time, he doesn’t dare to look away. 

“Ironic, considering how I always worry about everything that’s going to happen.”

“Well, maybe that’s why you can enjoy the now so much, too. Because you’d rather not think about what’s ahead of you.”

Crowley hums softly, leaning into the hand on his cheek. If he still feels sick, it’s for a completely different reason now, a completely different kinds of nerves. His heart leaps, his eyes soften as they wander all over Aziraphale’s face.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, squeezing the angel’s hand, “Thanks for… understanding.”

“Of course, dear. We’re in this together, I’ll always do my best to understand. Now… how about we open that second bottle that’s waiting for us? Or perhaps we could go out somewhere, for a nice dinner…”

Crowley smiles, listening to the angel go on and on about their plans for the day. Just for this day, not for the following day or the day after that. Not for the next week or month or year. Just today, right now. 

He thinks, with a certain relief, that they’ll be okay. That they’ve gone through six thousand years and that Aziraphale truly is different. So they’ll be okay, together or apart. 

For now, all he has to worry about is where they’ll go for dinner. 

The rest will come eventually. 


End file.
